A Shepard's Shadow
by spectrekhaleesi
Summary: "Most people think that shadows follow, precede, or surround beings or objects. The truth is that they also surround words, ideas, desires, deeds, impulses, and memories." Elie Wiesel
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

_**Location: Quebec, Canada, Earth**_

_**Date: April 11th, 2154**_

"Hannah," the woman's regal English accent cut through the screaming of the red haired woman in the hospital bed.

Sweat caked the woman's face, making her long hair stick to her forehead. She lay propped up against pillows in the hospital bed with her legs in stirrups. The baby stirring inside of her was getting ready to make its debut. The English woman placed a hand on her friend's shoulder and let Hannah squeeze her other hand, "You need to breathe." The doctor near Hannah's pelvis nodded at her in a _thank you_.

The birthing room was filled with Hannah's screams and groans. All of the birthing and lamaze classes she took were shot out of a skyscraper window, completely forgotten as soon as the first contraction had hit her. For an Alliance Doctor, Hannah Shepard was surprisingly intolerant of pain.

_Good thing she isn't a marine,_ her friend thought.

Marine or not, Hannah Shepard was still a surgeon with a pistol and scalpel alike. She was a fierce, passion-filled woman who was about to become a mother. _A wonderful mother_. The English woman had to breathe slowly to make the little lump in her throat sink back down into the butterflies which fluttered around in her stomach. The butterflies were more or less caused by excitement… the lump in her throat was a combination of emotion and nausea.. brought on by the various of fluids in the room, no doubt. Being an Alliance Doctor herself, she was used to being exposed daily to blood, pus, urine, etc, but she admitted it was never a treat to be exposed to such thing without a sanitation mask.

She took the damp rag from the end table next to the bed and dabbed at her friend's freckled neck and face. Hannah's green eyes shed tears down her flushed face.

"I can't," she sobbed, her shoulders shook violently. She groaned again. Her face scrunched up in pain as another contraction hit her.

"Karin, I can't do this without him."

Karin's heart broke for her friend. Hannah had to make too many hard decisions, she had made too many sacrifices for something the size of a thumbtack. _A mother's instinct_, she concluded. Karin had always been more calculating as opposed to Hannah's passion and lack of foresight. It was how she ended up in her current position, although Karin didn't see this in a negative light. In fact, it warmed her heart instead. Now, the full grown baby was ready to come out into the world to draw it's first breath. The prospect of witnessing new life amazed her**. **She had seen so much death.

"Yes, you can, Hannah."

Karin looked her friend in the eye. The same kind of look which established their friendship. Strength. Trust. She grasped Hannah's hand tightly in her own, "You. Can. Do. This."

Hannah gave her a small smile out of the corner of her mouth.

"But…" Her lips quivered as her smile faltered, more tears leaking out of her eyes. She winced as another contraction hit her as she heaved and searched for breath. "What if I'm a bad mother? What if-"

Karin shook her head defiantly, immediately blocking out everything else Hannah was saying to her. Hannah's loving and gentle nature gave her the best qualities for parenting. For comfort. Security. Growth.

"No," she said sharply and dabbed her face again with the wet cloth, "You will be amazing, Hannah."

Hannah began to shake her head and cry, her eyes closing in defeat. She had made a huge mistake, the biggest mistake of her life by keeping this… this thing. The parasite that's been eating all of her food for the past 9 months, making her belly grow big and full of stretch marks all before age thirty. She had just turned twenty five and earned her medical license before the surprise pregnancy. Her lover wasn't there anymore to support her, _my fault_. There was no turning back and she knew, deep down in her heart, she was going to fuck this thing up when she didn't want to.

"This-" she sobbed and threw her head back as she jerked when another contraction hit her, "This is a mistake."

Karin lifted Hannah's chin to make her friend look her in the eye like she would a four-year-old throwing a temper tantrum when things weren't going her way. "Hannah, you _listen _to me."

Her green eyes widened, Karin has never been so stern before this.

"Your baby is coming _right now_." She let go and stooped to her eye level, "And right now, you don't have any other _choice _but to deliver this baby**.**"

Hannah knew that Karin was right. She had missed her opportunity to terminate the pregnancy humanely within the first few weeks of the conception. Hannah had wanted to become a medical officer someday, she already went through basic and field training, attended college and med school. The goals she had to secure her own future disappeared the moment she stormed out of the women's clinic for _maker knows what reason_, perhaps it was the quality she had to always take ownership of her mistakes. She ignored the creeping idea in the back of her head telling her she had _always wanted a baby_. Her mind raced and flickered to the accidental Element Zero exposure she fell victim to while pregnant. The tiny nodes in her unborn baby's brain. All of the women who buried their toddler-sized coffins due to terminal brain cancer.

"Shepard."

Hearing the use of her last name in a firm military voice was disarming, it reminded her of simpler days. "Do you _understand _me?"

Hannah nodded and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Okay," She huffed and nodded her head again and grasped Karin's hand. "I'm ready."

Five excruciating pushes and contractions later, piercing screams filled the hospital room from the tiny lump of skin and blood in the doctor's hands. The sound made Hannah's heart do flips. It made her heart _hurt_. She didn't ever want to hear that sound again if she could help it, she wanted to take the sadness out of the innocent, screaming baby.

_My baby._

The male doctor cut the cord since the father was not present to do so and asked, "Would you like to hold your baby girl, Hannah?"

Hannah started to sob again as she nodded and reached for the child in front of her. The doctor walked cautiously over to her as he gently cradled the baby in his arms and set her face down on her mother's chest. She _shushed _and _crooned_ to her baby as she kissed her wrinkled and bloody forehead. The child settled against her instinctually as she cried to soak in her warmth. Hannah wrapped her arms carefully around the baby, so tiny, so _fragile_. How could she have ever regretted this masterpiece? She counted all of her baby's fingers as the tiny but long fingers wrapped around her pointer. Hannah counted all of the little toes on her feet. Perfect.

_Absolutely perfect._

Guilt crushed her heart like a pendulum. How could she ever have thought about getting rid of her? Hannah felt as if she were waiting for her baby for a lifetime. Her soul was complete, melded to her little girl.

A bond _nothing _could break.

"She's so beautiful," Hannah whispered as she ran her hand carefully over her infant's full head of black hair, "Shhhh. It's okay."

Her infant finally settled down against her chest, Hannah draped the sheet over them so the baby could keep her warmth to herself. She kissed her forehead again and sniffled, Hannah knew she would remember this moment for the rest of her life. The new mother looked to her right at Karin who had already pulled up a chair to gaze at the perfect little baby in front of her in wonder.

Hannah smiled at her. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course." Karin smiled back at her. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Hannah giggled and stroked the fine hairs on her baby's head, "Karin, will you promise me something?"

She shifted, unsure. "What is it, Hannah?"

"I need you to promise." Her voice shook as she looked at the little girl in her arms. Her flesh and blood. "That if anything happens to me-"

"Hannah, don't talk like that."

"No." She shook her head. "If anything happens to me, ever, I need you to make sure my little girl is safe and provided for." Hannah sniffled again and kissed her baby once more..

"I need you to make sure she's loved."

Karin smiled at the sleeping baby on Hannah's chest.

"_I promise._"

Hannah nodded and smiled, satisfied with Karin's answer. She looked down at her baby once more to see the little girl open her eyes slowly. Brilliant, wide blue eyes gazed up at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"She has _blue eyes_, Karin." she spoke as if she didn't see the little girl in front of her. Her voice rattled with sadness, regret.

"Just like her daddy."

_**Location: The Citadel**_

_**Date: 2183**_

Three men sit on stiff leather chairs in the Ambassador's office on the Citadel. A bronze skinned man with dark eyes and age lines sits behind his desk, his hands are folded neutrally in front of him after he smooths out his sophisticated tan and white suit. He begins to scroll through files on his terminal. Some files he skips over completely, others he studies carefully but then decides to move on after a brief deliberation. Each file holds a detailed description and dossier of an Alliance soldier, most of which are from various spec ops divisions. The files detail the height, weight, eye color, ethnicity, social status, religious background, skill set, weapon proficiencies, strengths, weaknesses, and a full psychological profile on each soldier.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the man behind the desk greets his guests.

His voice has a _nasally_ sound to it, and adds to his constant tone of condescension. It is, without question, the most annoying voice in the galaxy. Udina straightens the sleeves of his distasteful suit and adjusts the blue turtleneck he wears under it. His bronze skin appears to be washed out by the harsh lights in his office.

The two men seated in front of him are both wearing freshly pressed Alliance dress blues, officer uniforms. One man is fair skinned with blue eyes, he wears an Alliance hat to cover his short greying hair. His jacket bears the markings and pendants of an Admiral.

The Fifth Fleet Admiral.

He reaches up to his right cheekbone with one of his hands absentmindedly, gently scratching the dark purple three inch scar there, a scar from his old service days when he dodged a rusty combat knife in the hands of a batarian slaver. However, he has been out of action for quite some time since becoming a high ranking officer. His job is now more centered around politics. The Admiral enjoys the thrill of politics and moving the puzzle pieces to their respective places, yet he still misses the weight and balance of a gun in his hand. The pumping in his chest while he aimed for his target, the pulsing in his fingertips as he squeezed the trigger. Now, Hackett is limited to the shooting range a couple of times a week. Whenever he has the time. He adjusts his seating position and shifts the Alliance cap on his head he wears to cover his greying hair. Hackett sighs. This feels like the one hundreth time he's sat in this stuffy little office.

_Sitting across from Donnel Udina, no less._

The man next to him is dark skinned with dark eyes, he wears a similar Alliance uniform but with Captain pendants. He looks at his own data pad as he scrolls endlessly through their compiled list of hopeless candidates. He knew no one they picked would meet their standards and be up for the challenge. Their candidates were either too clean or too dirty. Most of the humans weren't charismatic enough to command loyalty, and the people who _were_, were too pompous to gain any kind of genuine respect and reverence from the public. Humans and _aliens_, alike.

_Now that's a tall order_.

Sure, the First Contact War was over and dealt with, but that didn't mean the alien prejudice towards humans was completely put to rest. _And vice versa._

"We've been at this for three weeks, Udina." The Captain broke the silence first, his English accent peeked through his pronunciation. "I think we're going about this _the wrong way._"

The Ambassador grimaced and scoffed, "The _wrong way_? What do you mean? We need to choose humanity's finest, not some _half-cocked_ jarhead waiting to let a few bullets loose."

The Admiral cleared his throat. "I'd have to say I agree with Anderson. The candidates you've selected are too _soft…_ We need someone who's seen a lot of action and can stand to see some more."

Anderson gives Udina a sharp look. "We need someone who can _make the right call_. Even if it means defying orders."

The Ambassador rolls his eyes, perfectly understanding the exact kind of _incident_ Anderson is referring to. "Are you saying insubordination is _excusable_, Captain Anderson?"

"No." Anderson stares at him hard. "All I'm saying is that sometimes it is _necessary_."

Hackett studies the men carefully. Anderson is cool, calm, collected. Udina is practically vibrating in his chair because they disapprove of the list he's compiled for them. The Admiral half expects him to shoot Anderson with the pistol he keeps hidden in the top drawer of his desk. Hackett smirks to himself, thinking that it would be best Udina doesn't realize that higher ups in the Alliance frequently send 'civilians' in to _check up on him_.

"Over the last few weeks," Hackett speaks carefully, "Anderson and I have compiled a list of candidates _we _find appropriate for the job."

Hackett nods to Anderson. "We'd like to choose someone who possess the traits we _all _would approve of."

There's a glimmer in Anderson's eye. Hackett hopes to the Maker Udina doesn't realize the kind of seed they're attempting to plant. Udina is intelligent, but he isn't very crafty.

Udina clears his throat. "Well. I'm _listening_."

"The candidates you have chosen are much too _humancentric_. We need someone who respects _all_ of the Council Races, regardless of their experiences with them." Anderson crosses his right leg over his left. "We need to look at the bigger picture. The _First Human Spectre_ won't gain any respect from the Council Races if they have never had much interaction with them."

Udina soaks in Anderson's words like a sponge, nodding as he does so. "I..." It is clear that Udina is having trouble admitting he is wrong by the way he bites his lip and hesitates, "I think that is an excellent idea, Captain Anderson."

"Ambassador," Admiral Hackett speaks up, knowing he needs to give Udina a little ego boost if they're ever going to _guide _him towards the direction they need him to be in, "I think you are correct to look into candidates who have minor diplomatic experience. We can't have humanity's Spectre leaving a trail of blood behind them to complete a mission. It won't represent the Alliance well, no less the human race."

"Well," Udina says, "I'm glad we can agree on that. We need a soldier who is not only diplomatic, but clever. Someone we can trust holding a press conference without me holding their hand." The Ambassador turns back to his terminal screen and types something on his holo keyboard. "Someone _charismatic_."

Anderson smiles. "I think we should look into the more aggressive spec ops groups for our candidate."

Udina looks over at Anderson from his terminal. "What division did you have in mind, Captain?"

Hackett watches Udina carefully. He already knows what Anderson is going to say, and he has to admit he loves watching all of the control slip from Udina's claws.

"Someone from the N-School would be an ideal candidate. They are fully trained in zero-g combat, parachuting, jetpack flight, combat diving, trauma care for both humans and _aliens_, and hell, even linguistics," Anderson explains. "The higher ranking Ns are taught several different Earth languages on top of a variety of asari, turian, and salarian dialects. Some of them have even picked up a little bit of batarian from combating slaver raids."

Udina's jaw locks as he grinds his teeth. "A sound recommendation."

Picking an 'N' would make Anderson look _too good_, being an N-7 himself. Udina cursed Anderson, kicking himself because he knows the Captain is right. An 'N' would be perfect… especially the highest ranking one. Udina looks back to his terminal and pulls up the files relating to the Ns.

"It wasn't a recommendation, _Ambassador,_" Anderson says smoothly, like he was complimenting Udina on his tie instead of telling him that _this is his show._

Udina has to clear his throat to keep himself from making a strangling noise and expressing his irritation. Anderson acts like he hadn't said anything while Hackett laughs internally. He loves to watch snakes writhe and deflate. The best part of the situation is that Udina _knows_ he needs to cooperate. Without Hackett and Anderson, he has no Spectre. He has to remind himself, _it goes both ways_.

"May I remind you, Captain," Udina recovers quickly, plastering on his pretty politician's smile, "Once _your soldier_ is made a Spectre, he or she will no longer answer to you." He takes a sip from the glass of water sitting on his desk. "As humanity's current representative, I will be working rather _closely_ with our Spectre. In addition, I will be handling most of the _public relations_."

Anderson cuts in, "What exactly are you implying, Udina?"

"Oh, I'm not _implying_ anything, Captain. I'm saying we need _synergy_. Without it, your Spectre may become more loyal to the Council than to the Alliance. Without a human representative, I don't think _either of you_ are prepared for that sort of thing."

_Son of a bitch_.

Hackett is neither shocked, nor threatened. The reason he chose to assist Anderson in choosing a candidate was so Udina wouldn't be able to trap one of their best and brightest into his vice grip. He is a smart and _convincing_ man, as manipulative as they come. Hackett saw it from a thousand light years away that Udina's main goal was to become the First Human Councilor, and he knew he would want to _groom_ a Spectre properly so he could achieve his goal.

_Nice try._

The Admiral clears his throat."Gentlemen, I think you should set aside your _dick measuring contest_ and get back to the task at hand. We need to make a decision."

"Yes, Sir." Anderson responds to his superior officer in a respectful fashion and nods in acknowledgement. "I apologize."

Udina says nothing as he goes back to scrolling through the files on his terminal screen. He taps his finger on his desk, appearing to be deep in thought.

"What about your so called," Udina puts his hands up and curls his fingers into quotation marks, "poster children? A family with several generations in the Alliance. It will look good for the press, _and _the soldier will most likely have a strong moral code with vast experience."

Hackett shakes his head. "Too clean for a Spectre." _Too moldable_.

Udina nods and crosses his arms, tapping his chin in thought.

Anderson clears his throat before he speaks, Udina rolls his eyes and keeps his gaze fixed on his terminal.

"I think we should choose a soldier native to Earth." Anderson gives his opinion even though he's sure Udina has had enough of him today. Udina is still typing away at his terminal. "Someone relatable. Not too privileged or dramatic. Someone with enough foresight and intelligence to handle questionable situations with _tact_."

Udina's eyes widen as he studies the first file on his screen. He sits back in his chair, "Well…" He pauses and massages his chin. "What about Shepard? Earthborn… but little record of her family."

Udina is skeptical, even though he made the suggestion. The one thing he has always admired but hated about Commander Shepard is her uncanny ability to smell _horseshit_.

Anderson responds to him eagerly before Udina can reconsider his suggestion, "Doesn't have one. She grew up on the streets. Learned to look out for herself."

_Perfect_, Hackett thinks as he shifts in his chair. Not only has his first choice been mentioned, they were able to get Udina to think of the Commander himself. However, he knows he needs to speak about this critically, being the superior officer. "The Commander saw her whole unit die on Akuze. She could have some serious emotional scars."

Six years later, she still has scars from the incident. Hackett knows every soldier has gone through an earth-shattering incident comparable to hers, himself included.

"Every soldier has scars," Anderson retorts respectfully. "Shepard's a survivor."

Hackett knows Anderson is right. She is stronger than any soldier he's met in his entire life.

"Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?" Udina says disapprovingly. He's never liked Shepard much, but he has to admit, she was a _damn good soldier_.

_Someone who can play the part._

Anderson smiles pridefully. "That's the only type of person who _can_ protect the galaxy."

Hackett nods to himself in agreement, Commander Shepard is the perfect fit for the job.

Udina sighs, scratching his temple, knowing he's _going to regret this_.

"I'll make the call."


	2. Chapter 2: Anderson and The Call

_**Location: Vancouver General Hospital, Vancouver, Canada.**_

_**Year: 2158 (Age Four)**_

Maëlle walked into the hospital holding her orange sippy cup _with two hands_, just as her daddy had instructed. She sipped her apple juice until her cheeks puffed out as she bounced and wobbled on her tippy toes into the lobby. Her beautiful light blue eyes wandered the building, she loved to look at all of the different kinds of chairs and the various shapes and colors of the people who sat on them. The bright and abstract paintings on the walls made her curious, she wondered how someone could get a bunch of lines to look like _that_. She remembered the colors her mommy and daddy went over with her every night after dinner and picked them out in the painting.

_Red. Blue. Black. Green. Yellow._

She liked the sounds her sneakers made against the shiny metal flooring. Maëlle stopped mid step and stomped on the floor so her sneakers would light up. She kept trying to figure out how the lights worked, but no matter how hard she studied them she couldn't. The pink lights reflected off of the gray metal floor as she jumped and stomped like one of her favorite dinosaurs, the Tyrannosaurus Rex. She giggled and said "Rawr," as she dropped her sippy cup when she curled her fingers into claws. Little Katelyn with her fiery red hair squirmed and giggled in her fathers arms as he walked behind Maëlle and recovered her cup. He watched her carefully, making sure she wouldn't trip and fall. He wouldn't be able to catch her with Maë's baby sister in his arms. Maëlle's father watched her run with a smile on his face. Her little black pony tail bobbed and swung as she moved erratically, nearly plowing into one of the nurses passing by. The nurses smiled and giggled at the little girl passing by, imitating the long extinct creature.

"Hey, Maëlle!" one of the passing nurses exclaimed.

Maëlle broke character to smile and wave at the group of nurses acknowledging her. Her cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson at the sudden attention she was receiving.

"Hi, Mr. Murdock!" one of the blonde nurses wave to the man behind Maëlle.

Mr. Murdock was a tall man. Some of the nurses giggled as they passed him and didn't look him in the eye because they found his attractiveness intimidating, not to mention he was the husband of one of the hospital's doctors. His hair was straight and blonde, slicked back into a professional style. Mr. Murdock had almond shaped light green eyes, perfectly balanced with his cleanshaven, thin face and prominent jaw structure. His suit was navy blue with a white collared shirt underneath, the top two buttons left open. The cufflinks on his suit were small and modest, but expensive nonetheless. His hands were moisturized, nails were trimmed and manicured.

_Nothing but the best_.

Hannah entered the lobby, her long red hair tied back neatly into a bun. Her green eyes were bright and shining with happiness as she scooped up her little Maëlle.

"_Ma moiti_é!" She wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter. "I've been missing you all day."

Maëlle snuggled into her mother's neck as Hannah kissed her forehead. Her mother smoothed her hair and pushed it back into her little ponytail, Hannah's wedding and engagement rings twinkling under the hospital lights. Hannah strode up to Mr. Murdock and softly kissed the red-haired toddler in his arms, who had fallen asleep suddenly and peacefully.

Hannah stood up slightly on her tippy toes and gave her husband a soft kiss. He returned it and she smiled as she pulled away.

"John." She smiled wider, letting her straight white teeth show. Hannah kept her voice low as to not disturb Katelyn. "I'm glad you stopped by." She chuckled and shook her head, "I feel like I live here sometimes."

"I am too." John smiled broadly. "How's your day going, sweetheart?"

"Great so far." She smiled and placed another kiss on Maëlle's cheek. "It feels amazing to be doing some _good_ again. You know? The nurses are warming up to me, and so are the other doctors." Hannah smiled once more and sighed peacefully, "Everything is just…"

"Perfect." John smiled.

Hannah chuckled, "Yeah. I'd say so."

She looked down at Maëlle who was being quiet. She was normally a quiet child, but she had been so quiet Hannah suspected she had fallen asleep. Instead, she was relaxed in her mother's arms, head on Hannah's shoulder, fiddling with a button on her lab coat.

"Johnny, would you like to grab some lunch with me and the girls?"

He gave her an easy smile. "Sorry, sweetheart. I have that meeting to go to for the non-profit, and-"

"Can't you-"

"I can't push it back." He checked his omni-tool. "I'm already running late."

Hannah deflated slightly and pursed her lips.

"I'm sorry, Hannah." He looked at her apologetically. "I know we haven't had much time together lately, but it will get better."

Hannah ignored him at first. "Maëlle, I need to put you down so I can take your sister."

Maëlle pouted in response.

Hannah smiled. "I'm sorry baby, your father needs to go to a meeting."

She gently placed Maëlle's feet on the floor of the lobby and lifted Katelyn from her husband's arms, careful not to jostle her too much.

Johnny cleared his throat. Hannah looked at him apologetically.

"How about," He smiled and smoothed out his suit, "we put the girls to bed early, have some dinner, wine, get a fire going, and take the night to ourselves."

He said it more like a statement than a question which made Hannah smile.

"Hmm?"

"Yeah." She grinned. "I'd like that."

Hannah held her daughters hand gently as she led her towards the bright hospital room. The air smelled like soap, and Maë could hear the hum of a holovid on low volume coming from the room they stopped just outside of.

"Now, Maë." She lowered her voice. "You need to be quiet and gentle, okay? My new friend isn't feeling very well right now."

"What happened to your new friend, mommy?" Maëlle looked up at her mother, bright blue eyes filled with curiosity.

Hannah smiled warmly at her and knelt down to speak to her at eye level. "A bad guy hurt him while he was protecting a colony."

She watched her daughters face turn somber, serious. For such a young child, she was able to understand _a lot_. "He's a soldier, _ma moiti_é. Don't ask him about the bad guy, okay?"

"Is it because he's scared, Mommy?"

"I think he _was_." Hannah tucked a loose strand of black hair behind one of her daughter's tiny ears. Her skin was pale, just like hers. Maëlle had beauty marks here and there on her arms and back, but her face was clear, contrasting to her own freckled face. Her cheeks were still puffy with baby fat but she knew that when she got older, Maëlle's face would thin out and grow longer. Hannah admired her nose, long and thin like her own. Her little girl was so beautiful, innocent, untainted by the violent world.

_Stay small forever, ma moiti_é_._

"Now he's just trying to move on."

Maëlle tilted her head to the side and squinted quizzically at her mother. "Move on?"

Hannah smiled at her and took Maëlle's hands in hers. "You know how when you see something scary and it makes you upset for a while?"

Maëlle looked up at the white ceiling in thought. "Like the big scary monsters Luke Skywalker fights?"

Hannah chuckled and smiled once more. "Mmhmm. You know how you're scared right after, but a few minutes later you start to feel better?"

Her daughter looked at her, her face lighting up. "Yup! And you give me ice cream!"

"Exactly." She smiled at her daughter and kissed her forehead. "That's kind of how it is for him."

Maëlle smiled. "Okay, mommy!"

Hannah stood back up and led her daughter by the hand into the hospital room. The room was small, bright, and neat. Light filtered in through the cracked open blinds over the window on the far end of the room. A small holo screen was mounted on the wall closest to the door, the volume of the Alliance News Network turned down low. Maëlle looked forward and frowned when she realized the bed was too large to see it's occupant.

"Hannah," A low and friendly voice boomed from the bed. "Nice of you to finally grace me with your presence."

Hannah chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Feeling better today, soldier?"

Maëlle watched her mother pick up the data pad hanging from the end of the hospital bed. She studied it carefully and _tsk tsk tsked_.

"Much." He cleared his throat and paused. "The food sucks, though."

"Well, I can always get some good old Alliance food rations for you." Hannah winked and smiled at the man sitting in the bed.

"Okay, okay, Doc. The food isn't _that_ bad."

Maëlle tugged on her mother's lab coat as she looked up at her. She wanted to meet her new friend, but was too shy to approach the bed on her own. Hannah smiled down at her daughter and scooped her up.

"David, I've brought a visitor for you."

Maëlle set her head down on her mother's shoulder and tucked her hands under her chin, a habit she had whenever she was feeling shy. She studied the man sitting upright in the bed. His right foot was wrapped up into a big white boot, laying on top of crisp white sheets. The white fabrics in the room contrasting greatly with his caramel complexion. The man had a sharp nose and a broad smile on his face. He rubbed his hand where the IV rested in his skin, lifted his right hand, and waved at the little girl in front of him.

"Hello, there."

The stranger's smile was friendly and warm, his voice gravelly. "My name is David."

The man looked young, not like the older teachers who taught Maëlle's kindergarten class, but more like her mommy's age, maybe even a little younger than her. David looked a lot like the high school kids who visited her school sometimes to help the teachers.

Hannah looked down at her and whispered. "Are you going to say hi, sweetheart?"

Maëlle remained silent as she continued to study the man, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to greet him. He looked nice enough, though. Hannah mouthed, '_she's shy_' at David. He nodded and smiled wider in response, a chuckle escaped from his lips. Hannah took a few steps closer to the bed as David observed her daughter, he noted the drastic difference in appearance no doubt.

The little girl was absolutely beautiful to him, innocent and angelic. Her skin was fair and clear, it contrasted greatly against her pitch black hair and light blue eyes. She had her mother's long fingers, arms, and legs. The little girl stared at him with a certain amount of calculation, as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. Like she was picking him apart to determine whether he was worthy or not of her time. He detected a secret intelligence in her, almost like a sixth sense.

"Don't worry." He smiled. "I don't bite."

Hannah watched her daughter's face morph from a serious expression into a large smile as she picked her head up from her shoulder. "Hi!"

David laughed loudly at the sudden change in the little girl's behavior, he found it endearing.

Hannah chuckled and threw her head back slightly. "_Ma moitie_, why don't you tell him your name, hmm?"

"Maëlle." She continued to smile as she squirmed out of her mother's arms and pointed towards the bed. Hannah obeyed, surprised because she had never seen her wanting to get close to a stranger before.

"Sometimes she uses the French pronunciation, other times she uses the English pronunciation." Hannah explained. "She's bilingual, so it mostly depends on what kind of mood she's in."

Maëlle plopped down on the bed next to David and smiled up at him, waving as she did so.

"Hi!" She exclaimed as she held out her hand. David chuckled and looked at her, confused.

"She wants to shake your hand," Hannah chuckled as she leaned up against the nightstand next to David's hospital bed. "It's this new thing she's been doing."

David laughed and accepted her warm and tiny hand. "Nice to meet you, Maëlle."

She cocked her head. "How old are you? Are you a big kid?"

"I'm twenty-one..." David answered with a smile. "And how old are you?"

Maëlle holds her fingers up. "I'm four!"

Before David could respond, Maëlle turned to her mother. "Mommy, can I go get something for my new friend?"

Hannah nodded. "Of course, after we've done our rounds." She laughed at how quickly she had warmed up to David, how quickly she wanted to give him something. "Say goodbye to our friend for now, Maë."

Maëlle waved. "Bye, David!"

Hannah scooped her daughter up from the bed and into her arms. "We'll be back to check on you later, David." She smiled and left the room with her daughter.

David smiled and leaned back on his pillows. _Cute kid_, he thought. Hannah visited him more than she had to, in fact, she stopped by more often than most doctors would bother to since he had been healing up nicely. He'd be in the hospital for another week, two weeks tops. David assumed she missed talking to someone else from the Alliance, even though he was a lot younger than her. Meeting the little girl had been a nice change of pace for him. He spent most days lying in the hospital bed trying not to hate the batarian merc who shot him in the leg and stomach. David spent most days trying not to hate himself for letting his guard down in battle. He tried to forget what it looked like to watch the marine next to him go down, and the medic not bothering to look at his comrade because they both knew he perished as soon as the bullets had cut through his shields. It had been the first and only time he had ever seen another soldier die.

_And that shit stays with you_.

David palmed the omni-control and turned up the volume on the ANN. Second Lieutenant Steven Hackett was participating in an interview with a reporter, giving unclassified details about the merc attack on the new colony. Anderson saluted the man on the screen. The last time he saw Steven, he was barking orders at the remaining survivors of their platoon as he put pressure on Anderson's fresh leg wound and provided cover fire for the medic. David remembered hearing him mutter under his breath, "_Not losing another man today._"

"You're gonna be okay, Anderson," Hackett had said to him with a solid resolve in his icy blue eyes. "You're not goin' anywhere."

Anderson was sitting in a hospital bed with scratchy sheets while Hackett was about to be promoted at the age of twenty-four. Anderson sighed, he knew Steven earned his keep and he was happy for him. However, more often than not, he caught himself thinking; _If I had been a better soldier, things would be different_.

The doors to his room swooshed open, pulling him from his thoughts. Little Maëlle stood at the doors with a small tub in her hands.

"Hey, Kiddo."

"Hi, Mr. David!" she beamed and exclaimed. "I brought you some ice cream!"

_**Location: The Wards, The Citadel  
Year: 2183**_

Shepard treks through the humid brush, beads of condensation dripping down her black armor. She holds her pistol loosely in her outstretched grasp, ready for anything as she assesses her surroundings. The rhythmic and patterned bird chirping is unnerving, like the creature is trying to warn her about some sort of danger ahead. Her boots _crack _and _crush_ the firm green foliage she steps on. She scolds herself internally for being so loud in a hot zone. Why is she making such rookie mistakes? Shepard wants to kick herself for how stupid she's being. She's a fucking N7, isn't she? She looks down at her armor but doesn't find a logo on her chest. _Odd_.

"Hey, Shepard!"

She whirls around, startled by the sudden noise.

It's Toombs in the flesh. He's wearing the same cocky smile on his face as he always did, cradling an assault rifle with a cigarette hanging from between his lips. "How many clicks 'til the base?"

"Uh.." Shepard checks the squiggles and lines on her omni-tool, like she's supposed to make sense of them. Somehow, the answer falls out of her mouth. "About six. Still got a good ways to go."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Toombs complains as he scrapes his combat boots along the forest floor and stamps out the rolled tobacco. "We've been walking for hours, Private."

Shepard scoffs and comments over her shoulder, "I thought Lisa wanted you to quit smoking."

Toombs tips his head back and laughs out loud. "What the old ball and chain don't know, won't hurt her."

He then takes a moment to wink at Shepard.

She rolls her eyes and mutters, "In your dreams."

Shepard knows he's only joking. _Well, half-joking_. It's how he always was. He would do anything he could to get her to roll her eyes or chuckle, even if it was only a little bit. The Corporal was a jokester, except for at the very end.

"Well isn't that what this is?" Toombs is all of a sudden in front of her. His smile is wide, showing the pronounced dimples all over his cheeks. His brown eyes always seemed to dance. "A dream?"

Shepard bypasses him and walks briskly away from him. She hears his footsteps crunch over the foliage behind her.

"So," He calls back up to her. "What about that guy you're seeing?"

Shepard stops in her tracks and turns to face Toombs. He stops in front of her, only a stride away.

She bites her lip. "He's gonna leave me."

Toombs scoffs. "What?"

"You know… after you die. After _everyone_ dies... I'll be an absolute mess. He won't know what to do with me so he'll just..." She scratches her forehead, the gloves she wears scrapes across her skin. "Hell, I don't remember."

_Liar_.

Toombs frowns and adopts a far-off expression. Like he's remembering something.

"It's inevitable..." His lips tremble. "Isn't it."

He's not asking Shepard, not really. He _knows_ this is it for him. The end of the line.

"Yeah…" She can't stand to look at him. So young and vibrant. Bile churns in her stomach as she stands there and looks up at him, wishing she could just _leave this place_.

Shepard tries to smile but her lips tremble instead. "I'm sorry, Toombs."

His eyes become red and glassy. Shepard hears a rapid beeping noise coming from behind her, only feet away.

"I guess that's my ride." He smiles even though tears are running down his face. Corporal Toombs locks his feet together and stands up straight. Snapping a salute to his brow.

"Toombs…"

"It's been a pleasure serving with you, Commander."

"Don't you dare." Shepard warns him as if she's going to kill him herself.

He smirks as tears continue to stream down his face. The beeping behind Shepard becomes so loud, it's deafening.

"Give Lisa a big kiss for me."

"You'll kiss her yourself, Toombs." She screams at him, moving to block his path as he walks forward, brushing past her. "Just hold on!" She says the words every time she watches him go. Whether there's a thresher maw or not, it doesn't matter. Sometimes a merc shoots him. Other times he sets himself on fire. Sometimes Shepard shoots him herself.

She tries to grab him as he passes her but he becomes transparent. He strides forward until something _clicks_ underneath his right boot. The beeping stops. He turns to look her dead in the eyes.

"Get the hell out of here, Shepard."

"Toombs…" she whispers, unable to believe what she's seeing even though she's seen him die so many nights before this one.

His face morphs into that of excruciating pain. He winces and chokes on his breath.

"I can get you out of this, Corporal!" Shepard screams defiantly at him, her throat becoming raw.

The long deceased Corporal shakes his head. "Accept it, Shepard."

She watches him shift the weight from his right foot slowly, no longer favoring his left leg.

"You can't."

"TOOMBS!"

Bloody pieces of Toombs flies everywhere when a loud _bang_ resounds throughout the forest. Arms, legs, intestines, ears all plaster the green plants around her.

Shepard bolts up in her bed, drenched in sweat. She gasps for air, fighting against the way her throat threatens to close. It's been a while since she's woken up like this, about a month, maybe two. The dream happens differently every single time she's had it for the past six years. The worst nights are when the thresher maw makes its appearance in the dream, but it's a rarity. Sometimes, Shepard wishes someone were there to hold her and tell her she'll be alright whenever she wakes up like this.

_But that would just be fucking embarrassing. _

Shepard's breathing slows down after a few minutes of heaving and wheezing through her panic. Taking in her surroundings is usually the first step to stop her blood from pumping and her heart from racing so hard. Shepard isn't in a jungle, but in her small and homey apartment on the Citadel. She isn't wearing her black combat armor, but a cotton tank top and a pair of underwear. She reaches to her chest and feels the cold metal dog tags around her neck, they haven't left their place since Shepard joined the Alliance. Her long dark hair clings to her thin, sweaty face. Her long legs are chilly, she kicked off the sheets and blanket from the bed in her sleep. The overwhelming silence in the room is interrupted by an unnerving beeping as orange light floods the room. Shepard glances down at her omni tool. One missed call is notated on her tool, an incoming call is on it's way through.

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

_Ambassador D. Udina._

Shepard glaces at her clock, 0400 Earth time. She rolls her eyes. "Are you fucking serious?"

She reaches over to her nightstand and produces a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray from the top drawer. _Well, I guess it's my lucky day_, she thinks as she lights a cigarette and takes a drag in preparation to converse with the Ambassador.

"Shepard," she says after she accepts the vid-call from Udina, making sure the video feed captures only her face. Her throat is hoarse from waking up too early without drinking water.

Udina wears the same smug, self-satisfied look on his face that he always does. Shepard wonders how horrible his parents must have been to produce such awful offspring.

"Good morning, Commander." Even though he's called her at such an ungodly hour in the morning, Shepard realizes he's trying to be _cordial_ with her; based on his tone of voice. "How are you today?"

Shepard rolls her eyes. "Cut the shit, Udina. What do you _want_?"

A flicker of rage moves across his eyelids, she can see it even through the holo screen. She can just imagine his fists curl and his little politician play suit becoming too hot in his embarrassment. Shepard vowed several years ago that she will never stop trying to make his life as awkward as possible.

Udina huffs, clearly rustled and annoyed. "Shepard, there will be a meeting between myself, Captain Anderson, and Admiral hackett today at 1200. We have an important matter to discuss with you." His lips curl into a self-satisfied grin. "Full dress is required."

Shepard hates dress blues _even more_ than she hates Donnel Udina.

Shepard takes a drag of her cigarette. "Sure." She shrugs her shoulders. "1200, you got it."

"Thank you," he says sternly, his lips pressed into a thin line. Udina detests smoking.

"What is the meeting in regards-"

Udina hangs up, clearly trying to gain the upper hand in their child's play.

Shepard huffs and takes another drag of her cigarette and mutters, "Asshole."

She snuffs her cigarette out in her ashtray with a shaky hand and takes a sip of water from the glass on her nightstand. The thought comes into her head that maybe she should see a shrink again for the dreams, but it only lasts for a moment. It's been six years. Six whole years and Akuze still comes back to bite her in the ass. Hell, _everything_ comes back to bite her in the ass. She runs a hand over her clammy face and smoothes her long, messy, knotted hair back from her face. Her back is sticky from sweat. She shakes herself from her thoughts, gets up from her bed, and stretches; feeling the cricks in her neck soften and her vertebrae realign. Shepard flicks on the lights in her bedroom by using the control on her omni-tool.

The bedroom is plain and simple. The walls are white, the floor is a modern, yet homey, design of wood squares and rectangles. Shepard's bed is large, big enough for two big enough for two, though typically big enough for her to sprawl out after a long tour. The light gray sheets contrast against the white feather down blanket and pillows. A tall green plant stands in the far corner of the room next to two large windows, covered by plain shades, looking out into the red and white lights of the Wards.

She makes her way lazily across the room to the adjoining bathroom, the light flicking on when the door swooshes open. It's a simple room. White tiled floors, walk in shower with a glass sliding door, granite stone countertop with a large mirror over it. A sink is carved into the stone with a faucet wide faucet. Shepard waves her hand under it to cue the motion sensors to turn the room temperature water on. Not too hot, not too cold. She leans down and splashes some water onto her face, letting the moisture drip down her prominent cheekbones and long nose. Using the towel set down on the counter she dabs her face dry carefully, as to not irritate her pale skin. Shepard blinks her narrow icy blue eyes and runs a hand through her long black hair. It's a mess from tossing and turning while sweating in her sleep. She turns her shower on and lets the hot water run for a bit as she grabs a towel from her small linen closet.

Shepard takes off her shirt and her underwear and looks in the mirror.

She's tall, sleek, and thin. Standing at five feet-seven inches, Shepard is taller than most women she knows, but shorter than most men. Her body is perfectly toned and conditioned to be an Adept. She is flexible and feminine, being much stronger than she looks gives her the upper hand in combat. Shepard isn't the strongest marine out there, simply because her body isn't built for brute force, but her speed and agility give her an extra boost. Her body is void of hair below her neck, growing up she always felt the need to be clean and tidy at all times. Shepard's breasts are tiny, shoulders slim, her womanly curves are subtle. Her backside and hips are small, blending in with the rest of her. The curvature of her long legs gives her nearly shapeless form a feminine touch.

Shepard runs a long finger down the thin scar on her jawline. It's light enough to not overshadow her pretty face, but knowing it's there is enough for her. She shivers, remembering the pain and story behind the scar. Shepard runs her thin hand along her stomach, letting the pads of her fingertips glide over the ridges of the acid burns etched into her skin. The burns wrap around to her back, faded after many years of healing, but still present. Small circular scars mark the tops of her hands, the purple scar tissue contrasting against her pure, porcelain skin. They travel up her arms and speckle parts of her thighs. Most people don't notice until they look closer. But she notices. Thin scars of all different sizes mark her arms, stomach, and legs.

So many scars from different origins.

A black and white japanese styled tattoo is perched on her left shoulder blade. The eyes of the dragon are sharp and fierce, it's tail slowly morphs from spikes into feminine swirls. A classic snake and dagger rest on her right forearm, a victorian styled compass on her left. A black lined geometric pattern accompanied by two black bands wrap around her left bicep. An asari-styled black and white ink swirls cover her right shoulder and travels down her bicep. Each tattoo disguises the worst scars she's received over the years.

Most people think she just likes art.

She's glad the mirror fogs up when it does. Shepard is far too tired and weary from her restless night to even pretend to accept the way her body looks. All of the scars she has, all of her burdens. They have weighed on her for so many years, she doesn't ever expect the weight to shift from her shoulders to someone elses. Shepard steps tentatively into the shower, making sure the water is the perfect temperature for her skin. Satisfied with the steaming water, she lets the water glide over her comfortingly. Like a warm blanket in the dead of winter. She moves her head around under the stream of water, making sure every hair on her head is drenched. The water streams down her body, cleansing her, but not as much as she needs it to. She wishes the water would wash her collection of scars away just as well as it frees her pores of dirt and blood.

_Maybe next time._


End file.
